UNTITLED TYPEWRITER POEM NO. TWO

2

The breathless bundle of oak between my silos—
the heart surrounded by lungs—
is the only piece of me
who knows where my air lies—
whose hands my breath is holding.
If only the clouds knew…
Though, my head is empty,
waiting for my heart to speak with its breathless lips.

May I have the strength of your heart..?
Not its lips, but the air beyond..?
If I could breathe again,
I know what I’d say…

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3 thoughts on “UNTITLED TYPEWRITER POEM NO. TWO

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